


Not Much Would Be Lost

by Transposable_Element



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Diplomacy, Gen, Intrigue, No sheep were harmed in the making of this fic, Ornon is ornery, Slavery, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transposable_Element/pseuds/Transposable_Element
Summary: "If you fail, there is very little protection we can give you," said Attolia.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doublesloth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublesloth/gifts).



Before Ornon left for the Mede capital he had an interview with Attolia, who told him that she knew how good he was at his job because he had almost succeeded in manipulating her into executing Eugenides.

“We must be grateful that in that case I failed in my duty,” he said.

Was he grateful? If the Thief had died then, Ornon’s life would be simpler now. Not necessarily _better_ , mind you, but undoubtedly simpler.

“If you fail in _this_ mission, there is very little protection we can give you,” Attolia warned him. "We have Melheret here, of course, but if the emperor is very angry he may not care enough about his own ambassador's safety to stay his hand."

“I understand, your majesty.”

Attolia smiled one of her more enigmatic smiles. Perhaps she was noting that Ornon still did not call her “my queen.” Well, she wasn’t his queen. She was his queen’s queen.

Later on he wondered why Attolia had chosen to bring up a situation in which Ornon had not only failed in his mission, but had been thwarted by the man he was now being sent to deceive. Perhaps Attolia thought that Nahuseresh, having once bested Ornon (even if ultimately to the Mede’s detriment), would consider him a defeated foe, and so discount him. Ornon hoped that this was so. A true Eddisian, he preferred to be underestimated.

 

His meetings with Eugenides were longer and, as usual, contentious. At the end of each one, the king leaned forward as though to impart some vital piece of information, only to whisper "Baaa!" Even though Ornon knew it was coming, he pretended not to expect it. 

 

Ornon also met with Costis, who would be traveling separately to the Mede capital in a few weeks' time. Arrangements were already in place to communicate once they were both in the city.

"Don't worry, Ambassador," Costis said. "If you're executed as a spy, not much would be lost. Politically speaking."

"I suppose I had that coming, Lieutenant."

"I believe so, sir."

 


	2. At Odds

Ornon found the Mede court even more unpleasant than he had anticipated. Diplomacy always involved some play-acting, some misdirection, and of course a great deal of secrecy. But here Ornon felt that he was wrapped in a luxurious but stifling blanket that simultaneously curtailed his movements and made every movement seem larger and more extreme than it really was. And underneath all of the usual activities of an ambassador, all the daily rituals and pleasantries, the feints and ripostes, was the matter of Kamet.

 

One day not long after his arrival, Ornon met Nahuseresh as if by accident while passing through one of the palace’s many courtyards. Their first meeting, at the time of Ornon's arrival at the palace, had gone about as he expected. The extreme formality of the Mede court meant that nearly everything they had said to each other was prescribed by custom. And the patronizing look Nahuseresh had given him might as well have been codified.

This meeting, however, was not a formal occasion, though doubtless carefully planned.

“Ah, my good friend Ornon! Well met.”

The man’s fake heartiness was excruciating. If only Attolia had never mentioned to Ornon how much she hated Nahuseresh’s hair oil. Now he couldn’t help but see the former Mede ambassador as…oily.

 _I am a barbarian_ , Ornon reminded himself. _They don’t expect subtlety from me._

Ornon allowed himself to be swept up by the Mede and plied with remchik. Kamet was nowhere to be seen, for here at the palace, Nahuseresh kept a full complement of servants and need not call upon his secretary to bring him food and drink. Doubtless Kamet had better things to do. Of course Ornon didn’t ask about him. It was frustrating to know that his quarry was so close, but firmly out of sight.

The simplest thing to do, he found, was to let Nahuseresh do most of the talking. It soon became clear that Nahuseresh had invited Ornon to his chambers neither to influence him nor to pump him for information, but merely to watch him squirm.

“Your queen of Eddis is expecting an heir already, I hear...not so mannish as her reputation...her thug of a husband...but no sign of an heir for Attolia? No? What a pity...more crafty than I gave her credit...whatever regrets she may have...well, all women are two-faced...I had forgot, you see...Akretenesh had his little adventure in Sounis...still up to his tricks...I applaud your loyalty, of course, but I imagine it must be degrading...“ 

Ornon squirmed dutifully. As the meeting dragged on, he began to understand how Attolia had managed the Mede so adroitly. He was so convinced of his own superiority that he could not see what was directly in front of his face. 

Ornon said little. He put in a word here or there, merely to nudge Nahuseresh toward the belief that Ornon was at odds with the Thief, who was at odds with his queen. Nahuseresh needed very little nudging in that regard: it fit so well with what he already believed. At one time, Ornon had regretted showing his friction with the Thief too publicly at the court of Attolia. Now that reputation, doubtless relayed in letters from Melheret to his own government, made for a cover that might save his life.

Eventually Ornon took his leave. As he did so, he asked, "My lord, I believe you understand my position here better than anybody else. And so I feel able to ask you a question that betrays somewhat of my ignorance of your court." Too obsequious? 

"Of course, of course!" 

Just obsequious enough, it seemed. "I would like to find a way to practice swordplay. At home I would go down to the training ground, but I gather that is not how things are done here, and that a man of my station would be unwelcome."

Nahuseresh smiled unctuously. "I would not say 'unwelcome.' But it would do little for your standing at court if it were known you were sparring with common soldiers. I will see that you are offered an invitation to the training _court_ by one of our Masters. That is the way to do it."

"I would be grateful."

"Not at all. Eddisian swordplay has become quite a topic of debate here in the last year or so."

"Oh?"

"Yes indeed. The great question is whether Eddisian swordsmen are skilled, or merely ruthless." That smile again. 

Ornon suppressed an impulse to ask "why not both?" Instead, he thanked the Mede again. It would be good to have a chance to work off some of his frustration.

 

 


	3. Laela

Eddisians did not keep slaves. Even in Attolia and Sounis slaves did not form a whole distinct sector of the population, as they did here in the Mede Empire. Ornon found himself at something of a loss; all of his instincts and habits in dealing with servants were off. 

But he did have one great piece of luck: Laela, the woman Eugenides thought key to inducing Kamet to escape, was a friend of one of the slaves assigned to serve Ornon and his household. Ornon found this out almost by accident while asking one of "his" slaves a few questions about dancing girls, since he knew that Laela was a matron for Nahuseresh's girls, and had been a dancing girl herself. He knew these questions would be misinterpreted. On one hand, this rather embarrassed him; on the other, it was a good cover for his real intentions.

In any case, it turned out not to be at all difficult to contrive a private conversation with Laela.

 

A dancing girl’s career was short. Laela, whom Ornon judged to be no older than 30, was twice the age of some of her charges. She dressed modestly, as befit a matron, with a headscarf like that worn by married women. In her walk Ornon detected a supple sway that must be a remnant of her training. Her face was fixed in a blank yet compliant expression. If he asked her about herself he knew that she would tell him whatever she thought he most wished to hear. Yet somehow he needed to speak to her frankly, to gain her trust and cooperation. 

Her head bowed modestly, she asked why he wished to speak to her. “Do you wish me to serve you, sir? I think something could be arranged, but you would need to ask my master or his agents.”

Ornon briefly wondered what Laela thought of the prospect of “serving” him. Better not to think about it. “No, my dear, nothing like that. I wished to talk to you, that’s all. I am trying to understand your people’s ways.”

Laela took this in her stride, but during their next few conversations he got the distinct impression that she assumed he was planning to make a move. And so he was, but not the move she expected.

She seemed to become more comfortable with him, however. Perhaps she had decided that whatever he had in mind, he wished to persuade her into it rather than using force or authority.

 

Finally, after several chats over a period of some days, Ornon decided it was time to widen the conversation.

“Has Kamet ever spoken to you of Attolia?” he asked.

If Laela was surprised, she didn't show it. “Very little, sir.” 

“He spoke of you often to some members of Attolia's household when he was with us.”

“I don’t understand,” she said. That blank look. So frustrating.

“From what he told us, I thought you might be able to help me….”

Laela glanced up briefly. Then she looked down again and said, “Kamet is not....He is a _secretary_. Sir.” 

“You misunderstand me. I don’t desire his services. I seek to free him.” 

Laela shook her head. “Nahuseresh would never sell him. Certainly not to you. Even if you could afford to buy him."

“I suspected as much,” Ornon said. He waited, letting the silence draw out.

Finally she looked up again. “Ah." She was still for a moment, then turned and gestured toward the curtained doorway to an inner room. Ornon's bedchamber, in fact. He stood and walked before her into the room.

She closed the curtain and spoke quietly. "I don't think anybody would overhear us out there, but this is safer. No windows."

"I see."

"If I understand you correctly, sir, what you have in mind is nearly as impossible as it would be for you to buy Kamet. He is very ambitious, and Nahuseresh has promised to further his career. He could go far.”

“Is there no way to encourage him to leave Nahuseresh?”

Laela hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps,” she said. She looked Ornon in the eyes, and the slavish docility disappeared from her face. “He is my friend. How am I to know what you have in mind for him? Will he be well-treated? It is very dangerous, what you are suggesting. You understand the penalties, I hope. For him, and for anybody who helps him.”

“I have a poison tooth,” said Ornon, with a smile to show that he was joking.

“You might need it,” said Laela.

“Think about it, and come see me another time. Whenever you next come to speak to your friend Zaram. I am not in a hurry.”

"It would be easier to discuss if you were to arrange with my master for me to serve you," she said. "Then nobody would ask why we were alone together. He would wonder why I had caught your eye, but foreigners are known to have strange tastes."

"I would prefer not to owe him any favors," said Ornon, resisting the urge to ask what she thought made her so unappealing. She was, to his eye, quite lovely.

"The less there is to connect us in his mind, the better, I suppose," she said.

"Undoubtedly."

Laela nodded. “I will come again to see Zaram, sir,” she said.

"I look forward to it," he said.

 

 


	4. Himantes

Costis had sent no word, so Ornon learned about Kamet’s disappearance from Laela the morning after the slave left the city.

“My master is very angry, but I don’t think he suspects you or me or anybody else of helping Kamet.”

“Good.”

She handed him an embroidered bag. “Here. I knew where he kept his money. You should take it, for if my master finds it he will realize that Kamet left without an advance plan, and who knows what he will be able to deduce from that?”

Ornon took the bag, wondering what to do with it. By the weight, it was quite a lot of money. “You will not take it yourself?” he asked.

“No. I cannot,” she said. He saw that there were tears in her eyes.

“Then I will keep it for him until I return to Attolia.”

“Thank you."

"Your own freedom..." he began.

She shook her head, as if dismissing the thought. "I cannot stay. I must get back to the girls. When my master is in a mood—” She didn't finish the thought. Ornon wondered who would pay for Kamet's escape, and what price.

There was nothing more that Ornon could do. Kamet and Costis had disappeared, and now it was time to settle in and wait to see if they got away; also to wait and see if anybody connected Ornon with Kamet’s disappearance.

 

The days dragged by. Ornon felt a great desire to hit someone. He wanted it so much that it worried him. The worst part was that he knew that nobody here would find it at all strange or troubling if he beat the slaves who served him. As long as he didn’t inflict any permanent injury, nobody would even tut-tut at his temerity in damaging the emperor’s property.

At least he was able to spar now, Nahuseresh having long ago fulfilled his promise to have one of the Masters invite him to the courts where the elite men practiced the sword. He had decided that there was no reason to hide his skill. The first two men he fought were caught off guard. After that, he was considered a worthy opponent, despite being a treacherous and uncouth goatfoot—and how that Attolian epithet had gotten to the Mede court he had no idea! In any case, when he came to the court to practice there was usually at least one person eager to take him on. He was learning more about the Mede style every day. If he survived this post, he would have a great deal to teach people back home.

Today he had fought two opponents (good, long, strenuous bouts, both of them) and was thinking of putting up his sword for the day when one of the younger men threw his bag of gear to a slave. The slave almost missed the bag, catching it by a corner, and the contents spilled. While the slave scrambled to gather up the contents of the bag, Ornon got a good look at it.

He was especially interested in two long leather straps. Himantes.

He turned to the young noble. “ _Do you box?_ ”

"Y-yes," said the man, apparently taken aback at Ornon's intensity.

“ _Where?_ ”

 

Boxing, it turned out, was not an elite sport, but some young nobles practiced it anyway. It was a pastime more pleasurable for being illicit. Passwords were needed to gain entry to the arena.

Soon Ornon had no shortage of opponents to hit. Some of them were young enough to be Ornon's sons, but he quickly taught them the perils of holding back out of respect for his age. Within a few days, boxing in the Eddisian style had become the latest fashion (though still covert) at the court of the Mede emperor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How Laela got hold of the key to the cash box where Kamet kept his bag of money is left as an exercise for the reader.
> 
> Himantes are leather straps used in ancient Greek boxing to wrap the hands, wrists, and forearms. This was partly for protection and partly to aid in inflicting damage on one's opponent. You can see them in this famous [Hellenistic Greek sculpture of a boxer](http://thegetty.tumblr.com/post/125605039647/the-boxer-is-resting-in-the-getty-museums). Greek boxing was very bloody and violent. I am imagining something somewhat less violent here, at least among these elite men who have to cover up what they're doing.


	5. Nosebleed

It was a few more days before the news came that Kamet, last seen somewhere on the road to Perf, was accompanied by an Attolian of soldierly bearing. Enough time for Ornon to acquire a collection of bruises in a variety of sizes, locations, and colors, not to mention some quite painful cuts and scrapes from the edges of his opponents' himantes. During his last bout he had cracked a rib and had to be taped up by the physician who attended the boxers.

It was a good distraction.

Ornon didn’t need Laela to bring him the news this time. The uproar in the palace alerted him, and soon Nahuseresh did the unthinkable and sent for him. Ornon felt an odd exhilaration as he made his way to Nahuseresh's chambers.

Nahuseresh was evidently taking this new development badly. He was flushed and (for him) unkempt, which Ornon privately thought improved his appearance.

“You have heard the news?” the Mede began without the usual niceties.

“That your secretary has been seen traveling with a man who appears to be Attolian? Yes, of course.”

“The Attolian gave his name as Aris. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Perhaps, my lord. There is a palace guard named Aristogiton. A landless man, not unintelligent, dark-haired.”

“This man is fair. But in any case, we think we know who it is.”

“Oh?”

“We think it is favorite of the Thief’s, a man named Ormentiedes. I presume you know him. Melheret reported a while back—some time after you arrived here, I remember—that he had disappeared, and people seemed to think he had been kidnapped or assassinated. But now we think perhaps he made his way here, on the Thief’s orders, to steal _my secretary_.”

“Ah. Well I suppose that makes a kind of sense. I do know the man. He’s very loyal to the king.”

“You do not seem surprised.”

Ornon allowed himself a smile. “The Thief of Eddis was a member of my queen’s court for many years. Very little he does surprises me.”

“And you do not deplore this theft?”

“Should I? To be quite frank, I have little stomach for slavery. We do not keep slaves in my country. I understand that it is a grave crime here, to steal a slave or help a slave to escape, but it is beyond me to condemn it.”

“Brave words. You did not abet this theft yourself, I hope.”

“Do you suspect me?”

“It seems unlikely that you would express approval if you were afraid of being accused of the crime yourself.”

“If I were, your ambassador Melheret is surety for my safe return.”

“Bah! Melheret! Do you think the emperor cares for his fate? But no, Ornon, you have no need to fear. I know you have no love for your little king, nor he for you. Perhaps he has not forgotten that you tried to goad the queen into executing him. He certainly hasn’t forgotten my role in the loss of his hand, and doubtless he exacts his revenge upon Attolia daily. A bundle of grudges, a manipulative little thief, still and always!"

Ornon watched, amazed, as Nahuseresh blustered around the room, making his case for him better than he could have done himself.

"He has left you in peril, while his favorite cavorts across the empire!" Nahuseresh spat. "Now I understand why you have been brawling like a commoner. It's clear as water from Inanna's spring that you suspected what your king has done and you are angry. I know you serve the queen—your own queen, still, and not the virago Attolia. He wants you dead, but I will not kill you for him!”

For a perilous moment, Ornon struggled to prevent himself from laughing. Then the impulse passed. Nahuseresh glared and waved a hand in dismissal. Ornon bowed his way out and made his way to his chambers. 

Once he was alone, Ornon assessed the situation. The worst danger was probably past, but he must remain vigilant. The emperor or his heir, Prince Naheelid, might see things differently, but Ornon thought not. He was reasonably certain that Nahuseresh, though out of favor at court, was still considered the best authority on Attolia and its politics. Now that he was free to laugh, he indulged himself.

Then, very deliberately, he imagined his fist, wrapped in himantes, smashing Nahuseresh’s nose. He imagined the crunch of cartilage. He imagined blood pouring from the Mede's face. It was a satisfying image.

No more boxing, Ornon decided; or at least, not so much. Just enough to keep him sane until he was expelled or recalled to Attolia. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for the prompt! I had great fun writing this and hope it satisfies.
> 
> One thing I realized about Ornon on this reread of the series is just how unlike a stereotypical diplomat he is. He is not smooth and conciliating; he's cranky and obnoxious and has very little patience. That's probably why I like him so much. And he does seem hot-tempered and rather violent (not unusual in this series, I admit). Of course, at the Mede court he would have a lot less latitude. Poor Ornon.
> 
> The idea for boxing came from this conversation between the magus and Eddis in _The King of Attolia_ :
>
>> "I did wonder why your ambassador's assistant was returned so precipitously. I assumed it was Gen who gave him that black eye. It must have been beautiful when it was fresh."
>> 
>> "No, that was Ornon," Eddis informed him dryly.
> 
> And then there's this, from the scene in Eugenides' chambers after the assassination attempt:
>
>> "[Costis] watched as Ornon stepped forward, seized a man efficiently by the hair, and pulled him sharply backward. The man sat down hard, and Ornon stepped into the space he had left by the king's bed. He splayed his hand across the king's face and slammed his head back hard against the pillow." 
> 
> The no-nonsense violence seems characteristically Eddisian. Much of my sense of Ornon comes from that scene, including the earlier bits when he and Eugenides are playing off each other like the old adversaries they are.


End file.
